Category: prose
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21.11: MicroDosing 150µg
Quiet Hearts There’s a man who wandered here and there, collecting silences: the thin breath between cathedral notes, the feather-pause beneath a crow’s wing, the split-second hush before a lie takes shape. He trapped each one in cork-sealed jars, labelling them with careful hands, certain he was gathering rare specimens of the world’s quiet heart.…
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18.11: dVerse Quadrille
The Internet Is Down Again Come on, you sulking hulk,we coax you from the dark,we whisper to your routers,and promise you the clouds.Rise now, little lights,shake off your grumpy moody gloom.The world waits, half-breathing,for your bright return.Come on, Cloudflare, wake up! Written for dVerse Poets, Quadrille (44 words) “coax”. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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18.11: At the Intersection of Odd Numbers
A Black That Remembers Brigid had the office door painted Vantablack; she loved this colour, it was so dark it erased everything but consequence. Customers slowed in caution as they passed it, uncertain whether it was a surface or a hole; the crow croaked “wormhole” at it endlessly, and Pierre swore he heard a slow,…
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12.11: dVerse Prosery
The Coming I stirred the embers with a bone-handled spoon, watching the light ebb from the fields. The year was thinning; even the crows sounded hollow. Yet I smiled, for then and not yesterday, I learned to know the love of bare November days before the coming of the snow. It was a respect without…
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11.11: At the Intersection of Odd Numbers
A Way In The door had always been red — not bright, not cherry, but the dull rust of dried blood and arm-folded resolve. Brigid pressed her palm against it, feeling the wood grain beneath the scabs of paint, crusty layers that reminded her of scraped knees, sun-hot pavement, blood blooming through grit … and…
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3.11: At the Intersection of Odd Numbers
At the Intersection of Odd Numbers: A New Beginning (Parts 1 & 2) Brigid’s back in the city, mop in hand, crow in tow, and at the intersection of odd numbers, the door to something new just creaked open. (A Six Sentence Story — Prompt: “cross”) A Mop and Bucket (Part 1) Brigid coaxes the…
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31.10: Of Samhain
The Return of the Wise Woman The PreparationThe world has gone thinat the edges.The air, a gossamer veil,smells of apples and smoke. A single candle is lit,a sun in a kitchen windowoverlooking the sea.It is the same flame grandmother lit,and her grandmother before her. A beacon.A welcome.A promisethat the hearth is still tended. The InvocationShe…
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30.10: dVerse Haibun
A Samhain Haibun On Samhain night she lit a single candle in the kitchen window, the way her grandmother had taught her: a flame for the ones who still wander. The air smelled of apples and smoke; the world had gone thin at the edges, and she thought she heard the old woman’s tread across…
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29.10: MicroDosing 60 µg
The Bone Orchard They don’t grow stones here in this bone orchard. They plant people. The soil is rich with silence, fed by stories. We tend the plots, not with water, but with memory. In spring, the only blossoms are the ones others bring. The only harvest is a name, whispered back by the wind.…
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28.10: A Six – The Book of 27
27 of 27: (De-Scribing) – a hollow gold once felt, not seen —(The unstitching and de-scribing of a binding) The Unstitching of The Book of 27 Felreil stands alone in the Scriptorium of Memory, the Book of 27 heavy as the ghost of a forgotten word, and gilded faintly with that hollow gold that glows…
It's Still Life 